Since I have all this free time, I felt like clearing my head of all these various facts and anecdotes. So here we go:
As Relayed by Warwood A. Daithes
i understand the timelines are screwy; it goes like this
Wickit was a pirate in the 1400s - 1800s, that latter part is when he turned into a vampire/went onto the mainland. But the question that occurs to me, for those who care, is this: How did he manage to stay alive for so long before he became a vampire? Voodoo. He was a mummy half the time I, and Vincent, knew him. When he was a scamp, he decided to round up a crew and go search for Atlantis, and in the process, created a pirate horde and settled the collective on an island known as Provoka. Once he had everyone together, he set out to find Atlantis. Over eight months of sailing, and then...
He found it.
Oh, he found it alright. As he made his way through the cursed woods, deep into a cave alight by strange trees, he noticed the grand sculptures covered in blood-red markings. Like graffiti, he would later remark. When he finally arrived, he was ambushed, knocked out, and drained of his blood. They tore out his eye, cauterized it, and in it placed one of the most unique items I've ever come across: The Eye. So, when he finally awoke, he realized his folly; he had gotten cursed by ancient druids who usurped the city. The effects? Turned his skin white, mummified his insides, and reanimated him with The Eye. His body wrapped in ancient gauze, and his drained blood was now sand, which was p. funny when dudes shot at him during raids. Useful, sure. But not as infamous and as effective as The Eye. The Eye could see everything. Not in the sense you or me see. But in the sense it could detect auras, magic seals, etc. Over the years it sort of became soulbound, and eventually, turned Wickit into a madman who relished in his own corruption.
Now, Vincent and him met sometime in the late 1700s. The Golden Age was waning, and the seas were no longer full of ships with riches as industrialization was taking place on the mainland, and land-bound steam engines were more effective than boats. Talk of airships came about, and the advent of the steam turbine, but of which would be replaced some time later with the Cashmir Trees. Now, out on the seas, in our pirate HQ, Provoka, we didn't have this sort of technology, and neither did the outer mainland areas that weren't close to the cites. Pretty a**-backwards in a light sense of the word, but I digress.The seas empty, Wickit turned his gaze to the clans of the outer mainlands. He disguised himself as a ninja, taught himself vrs. techniques via the many skilled teachers/sensei's there. The lightning one most notable, and possibly his most effective, psychologically speaking. You'd run too if a blind man came at you with a sword and sparks shooting out of his eyes, but yet again, I digress.
He would go up the ranks to the highest position, eventually ruling over entire villages, but to a certain extent. He never made the highest of high ninja ranks, Hokage, out of pity of tearing the area apart in one blow. Why kill a cow when all you want is a glass of milk? We would come back annually after when they rebuilt to ravage the place again. Wickit spied for us pirates while we planned, and attacked, many times. The most notable attack, at least to me, was when I armored up a clan of gorillas to act as berserkers while the crews laid waste to the towers via barrels of gunpowder. The loot was great, and the knowledge greater. There we were, amass with ninja scrolls, mask, maps, charts; real treasure!
But alas, the times were a'changin, and one night, Wickit and myself met on the Barton Road, next to some pub where Wickit was giving a ruse about "the ghost pirate of leon wickit etc. etc. etc." He came out, as planned (we used crows to communicate over long distances.) and began showing me that his curse had been lifted. Oh, how I dug a hole when I told him what I knew.
Now, I am the nephew of Vincent. I use to delve into the voodoo and black magic Wickit wouldn't dare touch. At the time. We met, and discussed the origins of Wickit's eye. See, I had this crazy idea that there might be more like it, and since Wickit, a simple human, could massacre a ninja village solo while wearing it, hey, it seems like it could work for me. So we discussed. I myself in particular had a keen interest about some ancient moon demon who might have ties to The Eye. The Eye itself was a pearl from the moon, engraved with the hatched druid marks that synched it to Wickets head. We concluded our converstation, shaking hands and wishing eachother well. "Listen for the Call of the Crow" we used to say. Eventually, we went separate ways and met time and again to update eachother.
One day, back in The Provoka Pub a few years later...
I was drunk, and had been busy for years since I last saw Wickit; scouring temples, killing various elders, just to get a clue about the damn location of Atlantis. On in walks this man on the street, Natas. It was rumored in Provoka that he bedded the governor ZamMap, and bore her a child. Now, this is all fine and dandy but the thing is...
Natas was rumored to be the devil himself.
So he talks to me, and I talk back. Any other time I would've seen Natas for what he was, but the mind of man is feeble, and I eventually mentioned Vincent, who was at the time the third most fearsome pirate on Provoka, save for Wickit and Captain Kurisutofa. So Natas goaded me into my bitter greed against him.
"Damn Vincent...he never pays me...I do ALL the ******** those 15 crewmen he has on The Isle..."
"Ah, so it is in Vincent your qualms lie. What do you wish?"
"Wish, you kiddin me? I write the scrolls, the formulae. I carry out the eldritch sacrifices, the bloodletting. What does he do? Carry on and on about some ticktack he hears in his head. Some sort of paranoid idea that some writes his world..."
"What do you wish, Warwood?"
At this point, I was crazed with envy. To call myself green would be an understatement. I wished for power, in a poetic form a sort of colour out of space, atomic power; cancerous wrath.
"Shall you hold your bargain, Warwood?"
The deal was sealed.
Upon my back the claws of Natas dug in, and in their wake black blood stained the back of my shoulders forever on, a stain that would seem to carry lifetimes over...
Meanwhile...back at The Isle
Vincent and Wickit were having a game of fun. A chess game, Wickit proposed. Chaos v. Order. The winner, the winner gets the respect that they won. Vincent nods. Wickit smiles, his pale face like marble. So they begin. They don their guises, they wear their masks, as they go out into their little cult and play with the people. Specters, Wickit called them. Vincent thought them more innocent folks from the mainland, but he played on.The game was afoot, you could say, for as they played Vincent sent me a crow.
The crow delivered a message: "Meet Wickit at the Isle. Bring the blade he gave you."
That we did.
Wickit arrived on a foggy and windswept night, the seas olive from the rains. As he docked his rowboat on the black rocks of The Isle, his appearance had changed oncemore. Gone were the wraps that bound his bones together. Oncemore, Wickit was pale as the moon. Curious markings of alien origin now stained his right side. As he opened the door, I greeted him.
"Hello, Leon, glad to see you have come! Here, drink!"
"Ah! Warwood, your uncle requested us to meet over some matters!"
They talked over the various charts, now hundreds of years old. Kept alive by voodoo and other godforsaken means, the times they lived in blended together that not even their Writers could make a comprehensive timeline in this state. Then the dawn came, and they stepped out of the shack, and greeted the sun.
It would be the last sunrise my body would see.
Carrying the blade, a sort of decorate gladius w/ the hilt to appear as the head of a medusa, I told Wickit to meet me at Amity Point, the peak of The Isle.
Sword in hand, Wickit greeted me with a smile. It was to be a spar, the letter said. A simple sparing between comrades.
"I see you've kept my sword there in good shape, good one on you!"
"Yes, but, Leon, why did Vincent choose THIS sword?!?"
"Who knows, you're uncle is a strange character, now then, Warwood, en garde!"
So it went, they jousted back and forth. Wickit with his ancient katana and myself with the Atlantian Blade. On and on it went, and soon I tired.
"Had enough already then, Daithes?"
"Yes, it seems so"
Back in his mind, I no longer felt like myself. As if a pulse of infernal light, the spirit that was Natas crept in. I then spoke in the voice of Natas:
"See you've still got it old man. Come, feast your eyes upon this body I've got! See your friend betray his own family for a chance at true power!"
Wickit knew this to be true, for at that moment, and my body pulsed with a red energy before his Eye's sight.
"Natas, old scratch, eh? Tell me what you wish to do to this poor boy, let alone me?"
"I wish to kill you, Leon"
At that, it began. I was in agreement with Natas, and he with me. Together we pushed my body to its limit. Sinews tearing and limbs flailing at an inhuman speed, Wickit had finally met, what he still calls:
"A true opponent"
Then, something happened. I doubted, and it was in this doubt I lost an arm.
"Away with you"
So my soul was flung into oblivion, a dark place awaiting the call for life. My deeds weighed down upon me, and the sins in my life would forever haunt me.
Wickit stood, still on guard, still ready. His hair wild and his body spasming as the sun sunk below the horizon. The olive sea glowed at this last light. My body, no longer my own, now was a shell for Natas. My severed stub of an arm twitched, as Natas' infernal magic warped a cancerous grey limb from the flesh of his shell. Deformed, clawed, and bladed, it took the shape of its own blade. Jagged and hideous to look upon. Wickit motioned with his hands, as the air grew still.
Their charge against one another shook the island to its base. Unseen from normal human sight, Wickit and Natas were locked in combat. Lightning struck the ground, weakening the bedrock as they parried, thrusted, and bashed one anothers arms without rest. Sun rose, and sun set, and as the days wore on, a crater had formed. In the middle, Wickit, his energy diminishing, landed the final blow. As the body lost its blood, Natas spoke oncemore:
"You sure you want to do this? Vincent will come for you..."
"I give him more credit than that"
Another sickening crack was heard, and my body, no longer even resembling what it had been, was severed. The Battle at Amity Point had lasted three days.
Leon buried my body in a shallow grave. He struck his oar into the ground, and tied upon it his old flag. Dark blue, with a black cat and a crescent moon. Wickit didn't contact Vincent after that. Soon, they never spoke of one another again. Wickit went into the mainland and fulfilled his wish to be immortal. Vincent took to the sea, forever reading the tomes and folios of his deceased nephew.
The years rolled by; a hundred seemed a day. Lo and behold, Vincent, finally found the way to redo the order of things, for his future had grown grim indeed. Into his catacombs he went, and to his beast, his shoggoth, he told him of who was to come. With that, he cursed Wickits old ship, the Sea Crow, and then took his own body beyond time and space.
Wickit had become corrupted. No longer holding the glee and passion he had for old things, he acted as a lifeless husk of a man. Personally, I think he became this way because he never found an equal, save for those three fateful days in combat with the devil. Now vampiric, and powerful, he defeated his foes like they were flies. He had in that time amassed various cults to his name. In the end, he sat in his cold tower, no longer a man, but a monster. In the end, Vincent and Wickit had strayed so far from their years in Provoka, they hardly even seemed feasible.
But, before the conclusion of the third act, Wickit took up another apprentice. Accomplice. Accessory? Partner. He took up another partner, or should I say, the partner found him, as Vincent had done those many years ago. This new protege was an islander demon. Not a demon in the true sense, no. More of a poor choice in race naming. She found him, and again, Wickit went about creating chaos to such a degree it rivaled his pirate days. But then again, it could just be a consistent standard he practiced.
Eventually, Wickit turned the demon into a vampire, and in doing so, sealed his fate. The demon smiled. Nodded. Did what he told her to do. But, before I get to that...
A massive fortress perched on a sheer cliff in which many a brigand or pirate with the luck of having an airship gathered. The landbound travelers could take the Barton bullet train to the place, but it was much more of a hassle to get there via train than just building/capturing an airship and docking there. The fortress of Roads End was walled, and a dark tower, menacing in its shape and assumed purpose jutted out from the center of the castle, as if it were a finger pointing towards the heavens in a sort of death gesture. But back to the good part.
From what I have learned, and understand, the island demon got her revenge. At least, not without the help from a monster slayer. A monster slayer whose specialty was the dispatch of vampires. So, the three of them fought, and soon a forth joined (my records aren't clear on this) and together they ended up crucifying Wickit. Once the other two combatants we dismissed, the demon took The Eye, and hauled him off to collect a bounty with the dark elves. So far, that is the end of his tale. But not mine. Keep in mind, though:
Their tale was to end, and so it shall, when the trial of Leon S. Wickit would be concluded.
That just about sums it. I realize now that I was such a fool, and still am. I need to put my crew to rest, and the ship. I think I need to contact that one woman...think her name is Thilath. She might know where to find what I need.